


Fresh Hell

by Queen_haQ



Category: The Royals (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_haQ/pseuds/Queen_haQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the events of 2x10. Eleanor comes to say goodbye, but things don't go as planned.</p><p>Excerpt: </p><p>"Fuck you, Len."</p><p>"It's your highness," she corrects him haughtily.</p><p>"Fine. Fuck you, your highness."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first (possibly only) fic for the fandom and I'm still trying to find the character voices. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

She knocks on his door, unsure of why she's even here. Every instinct in her body is telling her to run, run far away from the man who shattered the last bit of heart she had left, but here she is anyway. Every second that passes feels like eternity, and yet the instant he opens the door, she wishes he hadn't answered.

 

His right eyebrow arches in surprise at finding her at his doorstep, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he stands a few inches away, watching her intently. His chiselled face is stoic and expressionless, like he's a fucking inanimate object incapable of feeling anything.

 

Anger surges through her but she reminds herself not to lose it. Too many times she's made herself vulnerable to him only to have him crush her, and she'll be damned if she makes that same mistake again.

 

"Why are you here?" he asks.

 

A question she's asked of him many times before. "To see you." A part of her wants desperately to believe the fleeting expression of joy on his face is genuine, but she's not idiotic enough to fall for that crock of shit again. "You're leaving."

 

"Because you asked me to," he reminds her, sounding hurt, and angry.

 

His sullen response is downright infuriating. Of course she asked him to leave. She _had_ to. After everything that happened between them, seeing him every day was like suffering through the worst hangover without the high of a good buzz from the night before. "Can you blame me?"

 

His features soften, his eyes brimming with unexpected emotion. His lips part and tremble slightly, like he wants to say something, but no words leave his mouth. He doesn't speak, not even a word, but the sudden vulnerability on his face makes her want to reach out to him. What does it say about her that even after all of his betrayals he still has such a powerful hold on her? Because he does, he absolutely does, try as she might to deny it.

 

 

Only he has the ability to make her feel completely out of control.

 

Utterly broken.

 

Devastated.

 

And yet underneath all that layers of pain and anguish, he also makes her feel protected, at times even safe - like last week when he escorted her away from the volatile crowd in the stadium. Then again, she reminds herself, that's part of his job.

 

A troubling thought lurks in the recesses of her mind these days, haunting her nightly now that she doesn't have the luxury of drugs to keep her sane. Did he ever feel anything for her or was she always just a mark? There are times she catches him looking at her with startling desperation, but she can't help but wonder if it's simply guilt. If it is just that she wants him the hell out of her life, as fast as possible.

 

Reaching into her purse, she pulls out the cheque from the inside pocket. "Here. This is for you."

 

He glances down at it. "You're offering me money?"

 

"You're leaving a lucrative position because I asked you to. Consider this severance pay."

 

He takes the cheque from her fingers and rips it apart, throwing the pieces on the floor. His voice is cold when he speaks again. "Fuck you, Len."

 

"It's _your highness_ ," she corrects him haughtily.

 

"Fine. Fuck you, _your highness_."

 

"Go to hell!"

 

She turns around to leave when he suddenly grabs her from behind, pulling her into his arms. She struggles against him, trying to fight him off, but it's a useless gesture. He's quicker, and stronger, and - _goddamnit_ \- she misses being in his arms, the feel of his hands on her body.

 

He has her trapped, her body firmly entrenched between his and the wall behind. She's panting for air after their short struggle but he doesn't look even remotely fazed, instead glaring at her with his piercing eyes.

 

"I was ready to leave, to walk out of your life, because that's what you wanted," he bites out. "But you come in here, throw money in my face, like I'm some kind of problem that needs to be resolved and you think I'd be okay with that?"

 

"What's the matter, Jasper? Did I hurt your fragile ego?" she taunts.

 

"You would have gotten exactly what you wanted, Princess, if you didn't overplay your hand." He cradles her face, forcing her to look at him. "But now, I'm not going anywhere. Now you have to deal with _me_ , and _our_ relationship."

 

"We don't have a relationship!" she spits out.

 

"Yeah, we do."

 

"I hate you!"

 

"Not as much as I hate myself."

 

Nope, not again. She refuses to fall for the sincere glint in his eyes; he's played her for a fool one too many times. "Don't you dare try to make me feel sorry for you."

 

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

 

Jasper isn't one to yell easily. He's usually still and quiet, waiting for the perfect moment to attack his opponent. He doesn't need to scream to be heard but now he sounds frantic, the loud volume of his voice bordering on desperate.

 

"I don't want your fucking pity, Len!"

 

"Then what the hell do you want?" Tears sting her eyes but she refuses to cry in front of him. Not again. Never again. She waits for him to speak, to say something, anything, but he doesn't - and yet the silence is deafening, the pain from their past hanging in the air between them.

 

He moves ever so slightly, taking her by surprise when he lays his head in the crook of her neck. She finds herself unable to breathe, suddenly, with the weight of his body pressed against her entire self. At first she doesn't know what to do with her hands, to hold him or push him away. In the end she doesn't move at all, keeping her arms at her side.

 

His terse whisper breaks the silence at last. "I own you, Len."

 

She hates that thrill of excitement that rushes through her blood, the way her body trembles as his lips skim over her collarbone.

 

"And you own me," he continues, peering at her closely. "So you can hate me, and fight me, and push me away if you want, but you _will_ have to find a way to deal with me. Because I'm not going away, your highness. I promise you that."

 

She shoves him away. "Selfish asshole!"

 

"Takes one to know one, Princess."

 

She glares at him as he picks up the content of her bag from the floor and shoves it back inside the Fendi. "Why can't you let me be happy?"

 

He takes the purse and places it in her hands. "If I thought you could be happy without me, I'd leave right this sec and never look back. But I know you can't, because you need me like I need you. That's why you came here today, to make me stay." He moves back, putting some much needed distance between them. "Even if you can't admit it yet."

 

He spins around and goes back into his flat, slamming the door behind him.

 

She stands there, stunned, wondering what kind of fresh hell she's gotten herself into again.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Eleanor stifles a yawn. It's her third night of entertaining the President of something-or-other and she's knackered. Before it was easy to turn on the charm and party her ass off - all she had to do was drop some E, do a few shots, and she was good to go. Now, when she's actually trying to do the whole sober thing, schmoozing is hell. And massively boring when the company sucks.

"What do you think, your highness?"

Realising the conversation's turned back to her, she fakes a smile for the President. "It's brilliant."

The balding jerk stares back at her, gobsmacked. "You approve of what the terrorists did?"

Oh, _shit_.

"Of course not. Len simply meant the way the military handled the situation was brilliant," Liam adds quickly.

She sends her brother a grateful smile. Liam may not have been born to be King but that's exactly who he was now, and she couldn't have been more proud. If only he hadn't insisted on keeping Jasper as his bodyguard.

Her heart clenches in pain at the thought of his name alone.

Fuck Jasper.

_Fuck_ Jasper.

Fuck _Jasper_.

He was supposed to have left two weeks ago, but of course he hadn't. Another thing he'd lied about. He'd acted like her offer of a severance cheque had been deeply insulting, and his shitty excuse that he was staying for _her_ was just that - a goddamn bloody excuse.

It hurt to see him, to cross paths with him practically every day. Most of the time she pretended to look right through him but it didn't seem to matter as his gaze was glued to her, his blue eyes striking, penetrating her to the very core whenever they were in close proximity to each other. She desperately wanted to stop her body from reacting to his steely yet heated gaze.

She gives herself a mental shake, telling herself to snap out of it. The last thing she should be doing is thinking about Jasper. At least he isn't here tonight - day off or something - and she's grateful.

Craving a cigarette, she stands up and excuses herself from the table. Liam shoots her a disappointed look but she ignores it, heading out of the large room.

"Your highness," Mr. Hill greets in his usual chipper tone.

As he starts following behind her, she turns around. "Just need a smoke. Not looking for company."

He stops, gives her a cheerful smile. "I'll remain here then."

"Thank you."

Soon she's standing by herself on the small terrace, taking a drag off her ciggie when she hears the terrace door open, then close behind her. Expecting to find Mr. Hill, she whirls around with a smile - but it's not her current bodyguard at the door. No, it's the one who's let her down time and time again and done a shoddy job of protecting her. Well, fine. Maybe that's not entirely true. Jasper _was_ a great bodyguard, but when it came to everything else he was an asshole. "You're not welcome here, Jasper."

"I'm working."

"Thought you were off today."

"Been checking up on me?"

She hates the satisfied glint in his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself." She takes another puff. "Last time I checked I don't look like Liam. So you're guarding the wrong body, don't you think?"

"Well, you _are_ twins."

Her gaze wavers down his form, taking in his casual outfit. The blue sweater is moulded perfectly to his muscular frame, and his jeans... she has to stop herself from remembering how fit he looks without any clothes on. Okay, yeah, it's been a while since she's gotten any but that's no reason to act like a thirsty bitch in front of him. _Especially_ him. "Get lost, Jasper. I'm not in the mood for you tonight."

He doesn't leave. Of course he doesn't. Instead he swaggers towards her, wearing the same cocky smile that makes her heart jump up in her chest. He comes to a stop in front of her, peering at her, as if daring her to hold his gaze. She does.

And then he reaches for her cigarette.

His thumb lingers against her lips, stroking her with a feather-light touch, before taking the cigarette from her and pressing it between his own lips.

She trembles, despite herself.

"Cold, your highness?" he asks with an arrogant smirk.

"Fuck yourself, Jasper."

"Fine, but it's not as much fun without you." He drops the ciggie to the floor, rubs it out with his foot.

Her breath catches in her throat as he takes a step closer, forcing her to grip the banister behind her.

"I miss you," he whispers, his fingers wrapping around her waist.

"Sounds like you're just horny," she fires back, hating her quivering voice.

He smiles. "It has been a while." His hands caress up her arms, and she can feel goose bumps on her skin. Bloody hell. He starts playing with her hair, teasing her, his eyes still fixated on her.

Her breath starts coming out in short spurts.

"You know what I miss the most, Len?" he whispers closely, his tongue tracing the curve of her ear.

"I don't care," she mutters with great difficulty.

"The sound that you make when you come. Your voice gets me so hard."

The bastard may be hell-bent on wreaking havoc with her body, but she refuses to yield. She closes her eyes.

"I miss the way you taste, and your loud moans when I go down on you."

Oh god. She misses his goddamn mouth on her, all the ways he can get her off. The memories off all their times together come flashing back, filling her body with excitement. It's been so long. Too long. And she wants him so fucking much.

"I miss being inside you, making _love_ to you."

It's his manipulative words that break through the spell. Gathering whatever strength she can manage, she pushes him away. He falters back, but he doesn't seem surprised by her actions.

"We never _made love_ , Jasper. We _fucked._ That was all."

"It was a lot more than that, Princess, and you know it."

"Oh, so did you _make love_ to mom too?" she taunts, even if the words sting like hell.

"We're back on that again, are we?" he drawls. "You want me, Len, and I want you. But it's not just sex. It hasn't been about that in a long time."

"I don't trust you, and I'm never gonna let you in again."

At last the cocky expression on his face slips, but she feels no relief - not when he stares back at her with a vulnerability that breaks her heart.

"Sooner or later, Len, you will. Even if you can't see that now."

"You don't really believe that."

"I do."

The quiver in his voice is so subtle she wonders if it's just a figment of her imagination.

"I have to," he continues.

He turns around and storms off, leaving her by herself once again.

She contemplates going back in to find a bottle of tequila, but she knows it'd be pointless. No amount of booze is going to erase the memory of Jasper's body pressed against her, the low murmur of his voice seducing her. More than anything, she misses the way he'd spoon her in bed, hold her close after they had sex.

Fingers trembling, she fishes for a cigarette in her fish to take off the edge.


	3. Chapter 3

Len can't remember the last time she was this sexually frustrated. It's been two months since she's gotten any, and while that may not be a long time for others, for her it feels like a lifetime. And in her current condition - yes, it is an actual goddamn condition that fucking hurts - everyone looks good. Really good. Too good.

Thank God for her trusty vibrator, which is the only thing that's been keeping her sane these past few weeks. Too bad every time she goes to get off, it's Jasper's face that comes to mind.

She remembers his voice, the dirty things he whispered to her, his every touch and the way his hands feel on her skin... everything about him is etched into her brain and every time she comes, it's his name on her lips. And if he ever found out, he'd never let her live it down. Bastard.

At least she doesn't have to see him this week, thanks to her current holiday location in Ibiza - something she desperately needed to escape monarchy duties as well as Jasper.

Sliding out of bed, she heads to the bathroom to take a shower.

Later, she's busy smoothing lotion over her naked body when she hears noises filtering in from the other room. Wrapping a robe around herself, she exits the bathroom only to find Jasper lounging on the chaise, his feet propped up on a footstool. His hair is not styled, like he forgot to slather on the gel like he usually does when he's on bodyguard mode, and he's dressed in a t-shirt and jeans.

It takes every bit of strength she has not to run to him and strip him naked, and from the wicked glint in his eyes he seems to know exactly how much she's struggling with that decision.

"If you're going to stalk me to Ibiza the least you could do was bring me breakfast," Len says, walking over to the dresser to grab her cigarettes.

He smiles, and the gesture makes her heart flutter. She quickly looks away.

"You're trembling," Jasper points out.

"I'm hungry," she fires back. "Why don't you make yourself useful and grab me something to eat?"

She's genuinely surprised when he gets up and walks out of the bedroom, only to return with a plate of pastries and juice shortly after. As he leans over to place the food on the nightstand, she inhales the subtle scent of his cologne. Her eyes close, and for a moment it feels like she's enveloped in his arms. His body is so tantalisingly close, and she wants him so. fucking. much.

If only he'd lean closer and touch her.

If only he'd kiss her.

If only she could stop wanting him as much as she did.

Giving herself a mental shake, she turns towards him and watches him cautiously when he takes a seat next to her.

"Would you like me to butter your muffin?" he asks, smirking.

She fights the urge to smile back. "Really? That's the best you can do?"

"Well, do you want me to or not?"

"I can do that for myself." Setting aside her cigarette, she reaches for a croissant. "I don't know why you're here."

"I came to thank you for the birthday gift."

She continues to eat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?"

"Why in the world would I give you a gift? I hate you, remember?"

"So you keep telling yourself."

He leans back, his body stretched out next to her, taunting her on purpose.

"Get over yourself, Jasper. I didn't get you a gift. Didn't even know it was your birthday," she lies.

"So the cufflinks waiting for me in my flat were just a random gift from a stranger?"

"Maybe they're from someone else you shagged."

"You're the only woman who knows about the cufflinks."

"Yeah, right," she scoffs.

He moves quickly to close the distance between them, catching her by surprise, and her body responds to him right away. Liquid heat surges through her body, pooling between her legs, and she wants to drown herself in him. Utterly. Completely.

"You're a liar, Len," he whispers, peering at her. His blue eyes glisten with need, reflecting her own feelings.

"Takes one to know one."

His cocky smile sets her body on fire.

She should push him away.

She should tell him to get out.

She should scream at him not to touch her.

Instead she closes her eyes, and allows him to push her back to lie down. Her toes curl against the sheets when his body presses down on her.

"Thank you," he whispers in her ear, his fingers playing with her hair. "Thank you for the gift. I wasn't expecting it."

"I told you, it wasn't me." She can feel his hard-on through his jeans, nestling against her thighs, and she finds herself arching up against him.

"And now it's my turn to thank you," he continues, ignoring her comment.

Her breath catches in her throat when he undoes her robe, pushing the fabric apart. As his gaze consumes her naked body, growing dark and fierce, her heart starts pounding in her chest.

If she asked him to stop, he would - she knows that instinctively - but she doesn't want him to. Not at all.

His eyes trail up her body and fixate on her once again.

"Tell me you want this, Len."

She's terrified of letting him in, or giving him another opportunity to break her heart. If he crushed her again, there's no way she'll ever recover. "What I want is for you to get me off. That's all." Knowing how much he hates not being in control, she expects him to walk away. After all, it's what he's done in the past when she tried to exert power over him. However, he only stares back at her with a blank expression, his blue eyes piercing into her core.

And then he smiles, and her stomach flip-flops.


End file.
